


Stitches, Trust, and a Handful of Dust

by Fox_In_A_Box



Series: Gotham Daemons [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Canon-Typical Violence, Daemons, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 02, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24411625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_In_A_Box/pseuds/Fox_In_A_Box
Summary: Oswald let out a defeated sigh. "Why have you brought me here, Ed? If you're planning to kill me, could you please get on with it? At this point it would come as a welcome relief."The smile vanished from Nygma's face, replaced with an alarmed expression. "Oh, no no you misunderstood me! I don't intend to hurt you, no sir! Quite the opposite, in fact. I want to help you."As he spoke, he stepped closer and closer until he was practically sitting on the edge of the bed. His fox-dæmon had her front paws on the mattress, her head peeking over the edge so that she could study the both of them with unnerving curiosity.[...] "And to ask for a favour," his dæmon quipped.Or; in which Oswald and his daemon wake up in a strange place, with an even stranger man and his fox-daemon to keep them company. Wounds are healed, lessons are taught, and in the end they might end up discovering that they have more in common with their unusual hosts than they had initially thought.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: Gotham Daemons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762885
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's back on her Daemon AU bullshit?  
> Useful notes about daemons in the end notes for anyone who's unfamiliar with the concept but wants to read this nonetheless!

The first thing Oswald saw when he opened his eyes, his right shoulder burning like a hot iron had been stabbed through it, was a pointy nose and a pair of big brown eyes staring back at him. He started and the fox stumbled back on the mattress in surprise.

"He's awake!" It called out, jumping off the bed and disappearing out of sight.

The unfamiliar room was spinning around him. He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to will away the nauseating sensation that gripped the pit of his stomach, but to little avail. To make matters worse, as he slowly remerged from his restless sleep, he grew progressively aware of just how bad his shoulder was aching. It seemed to get worse by the second, growing sharper, hotter, impossible to ignore.

He instinctively turned to Adél for comfort, gritting his teeth through the excruciating sensation that came with rolling onto his side. His dæmon was still half-asleep, nestled in the impromptu nest she had made of the bedsheets and blankets. He pulled her close with his good arm, allowing himself a relieved sigh only when he could feel the soft brush of feathers against his skin.

"We're alive," Adél gasped, almost a question. Her black beady eyes blinked back at him in disbelief.

"It seems like it."

They stayed like that for a while, drawing warmth from each other's presence. When Oswald finally summoned the courage to let go of her, Adél sat up. She hobbled over to the bottom of the bed, straining her short neck to catch a glimpse of what was going on on the other side of the room. Oswald could hear faint rustling sounds, as well as agitated whispering back and forth, but his vision was still blurry enough to prevent him from seeing anything but a pair of moving shadows.

"A man and his dæmon," Adél said, coming back to rest by his side. "They're--"

She didn't get the chance to finish her sentence before two shapes entered Oswald's field of vision. As they slowly came into focus, he was able to distinguish a tall young man in a hideous green sweater and a fox sitting at his feet.

Not just a fox either, _a dæmon_. Oswald found himself shivering, unsure if it was because of the searing pain that from his shoulder was extending to the rest of his arm, or because of the sudden knowledge that had she been any closer when he had jolted awake, he might have ended up touching her. He swallowed hard, his throat uncomfortably dry.

"Mr Penguin," the man said, taking a couple of careful steps towards him. Slow, hesitant, as if he was approaching a wounded animal. Oswald couldn't really blame him. Wounded he was and it wasn't like the gruesome tales of his infamous bad temper hadn't made their rounds in Gotham. "How are you feeling? A little better, I should hope?"

"Of course not," the fox-dæmon interjected. "He looks like he's going to throw up. Do you want me to get the fentanyl?"

"Not yet. I need to see if he's responsive."

"I--" Owald tried, but the words just wouldn't come out. His tongue felt heavy, his mouth dry, each breath scraping the walls of his throat. He felt Adél shift beside him, whispering encouraging words and yet never taking it upon herself to carry out the conversation. Old habits die hard, he supposed.

"Water!" The man exclaimed then. "How careless of me. Don't move, my feathered friend, I'll be right back."

" _Feathered friend_?" Adél murmured, only when she was sure the strange man was out of earshot.

Just as promised, he was back in less than a minute, bearing a metal tray with a single glass of water resting on it complete with purple straw. In spite of the pain, Oswald sneered. Patronising – there was no other way to describe it. What was left of his pride snarled from deep within his chest.

"There you are," he said, offering a smile that was probably meant to be comforting but only managed to come off as slightly unsettling. "Drink up. Dehydration is a common symptom of exposure, which is particularly concerning since I don't know how long you were out in those woods before I found you."

The words flipped a switch inside Oswald's head.

It all came back to him in a whirlwind of familiar yet disorienting details, like a movie in fast-forwards. The abandoned trailer in the middle of the woods, the frantic drive from the mayor's house, the gunshot, the blinding pain as the bullet lodged itself in his shoulder, his mother...his mother. His mother looking up at him with empty eyes, her lips parted to tell him something that was destined to remain unsaid, the colourful wings of her songbird-dæmon vanishing in a cloud of golden Dust.

Oswald felt tears of rage and despair prickle at the corner of his eyes. He forced himself to blink, to whisk them away lest he made himself look even more pathetic than he already was. He pushed the tray away with a brusque gesture of his hand. "Listen, friend..."

"Ed," he interrupted him. "Ed Nygma. We've met before."

Oswald shook his head, regretting it the moment a sharp wince of pain pierced his skull from temple to temple. "No, I don't think we have."

"The guy from the GCPD," Adél suggested, nudging Oswald's sound shoulder with her beak. "The weirdo who ambushed us with that ridiculous riddle and rambled about king penguins and their eggs."

Ed's lips curled into a giddy smile that showed entirely too many teeth. He didn't bother to hide his excitement for something as mundane as Oswald's dæmon remembering his face. So much so that he didn't appear to be bothered in the slightest by said dæmon identifying him as _a weirdo_. "It was emperor penguins, but yes!"

Oswald let out a defeated sigh. "Why have you brought me here, Ed? If you're planning to kill me, could you please get on with it? At this point it would come as a welcome relief."

The smile vanished from Nygma's face, replaced with an alarmed expression. "Oh, no no you misunderstood me! I don't intend to hurt you, no sir! Quite the opposite, in fact. I want to help you."

As he spoke, he stepped closer and closer until he was practically sitting on the edge of the bed. His fox-dæmon had her front paws on the mattress, her head peeking over the edge so that she could study the both of them with unnerving curiosity. Oswald fought the urge to recoil. Not that he had many places to go, with his back propped up against the too-soft pillows. He locked his uninjured arm tighter around Adél, keeping her close against his side.

"And to ask for a favour," his dæmon quipped.

"Yes, what Vera is trying to say is that...uh," Nygma looked a bit out of his depth. He exchanged a glance with his dæmon who, in response, nosed at his knee as if to urge him to continue. "We don't really need to address that now. You need rest. We can talk about that another time, or..."

"Or never," Oswald interrupted him, straightening his back in a mostly useless attempt to regain some of his usual imposing appearance. The effort proved to be too much the moment the room spun violently around him. He was compelled to squeeze his eyes shut to fight back the nausea before he resumed speaking. "I'll leave as soon as I'll be able to stand on my own legs. You better not try to stop me."

"But--" Ed tried, only to be stopped by Adél jumping to her feet and approaching the edge of the bed with what, had she been a bird of prey, would have undoubtedly been a menacing air.

"Leave him be!" she hissed. In any other circumstance, Oswald would have been surprised, shocked even, to see his dæmon break any rule that had been ingrained into them since birth, and in such a violent display no less. As things stood, he was just grateful, immensely so, for her sparing him the chore of scaring the man into shutting his mouth and giving him some space.

Ed looked disappointed, but didn't dare say another word. Oswald let his eyelids flutter closed in response to a new wave of pain washing over his body. When he opened his eyes again, man and dæmon had disappeared. Somewhat relieved to be finally left alone, he pulled the blanket on top of him and Adél, covering them both and simultaneously shielding himself from the greenish hue of the neon-signs flickering outside the windows.

He was going to try to get some sleep, he decided. Hopefully, in the morning he would have recovered enough strength to walk away from the dingy apartment and leave Gotham behind, along with all the sorrows the wretched city had brought him. And if Ed Nygma had a change of heart and decided to put him out of his misery in his sleep, well, he wasn't going to complain. Far from it, actually.

"If they wanted to ask for favours, they should have thought about it before kidnapping us," Adél mumbled. The hint of drowsiness in her voice told him that she was struggling to keep awake just as much as he was.

"They saved us from certain death," Oswald mused. "Only to earn the right to ask for favours? Seems a bit far-fetched. They know who we are which means they probably know our empire is in ruins as well. What do they think we're going to do for them?"

The question was left hanging in the air. The last thing Oswald heard before sleep caught up with him, was Ed Nygma and his dæmon humming the tune of a song he didn't recognise under their breaths.

Oswald spent the following days slipping in and out of consciousness.

Gradually, he started to regain a tiny range of motions. Though he still had to be careful and measure his every movement, the searing pain of the first hours had been replaced by a dull ache, not unlike the one that plagued his leg on the bad days. Something he knew how to ignore, provided he had something else to focus on. Which meant plenty of time for him and Adél to observe their humble host and his dæmon.

Ed Nygma was a strange creature, Oswald resolved after a few days, and the fox that trailed at his heels was even stranger.

In his childhood, Oswald had been trained to speak for the both of them. Mother had taught him that it was awfully impolite to let your dæmon speak up unprompted or, God forbid, address another human directly instead of chatting quietly with their dæmon. Then they met Fish Mooney and were initiated to a whole new world, a world of vice and power and violence, where your dæmon speaking out of turn could earn you a harsh punishment. Or worse.

Vera, Ed's dæmon, seemed to be the product of a completely different environment. Uncaring for the social conventions that stated dæmons should conduct their conversations in low, hushed tones, she rambled incessantly, addressing both Oswald and Adél without much distinction. _Did you know that you're an Adélie Penguin? It's the most common species of penguin in the Antarctic regions, isn't that neat? Do you and Mr. Penguin like riddles? Have you ever seen a dead body? We have, Ed and I! We work with them, actually. Fascinating, right?_

Adél, for her part, found her behaviour as unsufferable as Oswald did, and she often ended up curling up to him to feign another bout of weariness just to avoid answering her incessant questions. Whenever it happened, Vera let her ears drop and trotted back to her human, just as Ed's smile dropped from his face. On one, memorable instance, Adél was even forced to resort to physical retribution, slapping the other dæmon's sensitive nose with her flipper when she got a bit too close for comfort. Vera let out a yelp, echoed by Ed's hiss of pain. If anything, the incident taught her to maintain a respectful distance.

And yet, the most unusual thing about Ed Nygma wasn't his his dæmon, nor his aggravating lack of taste in fashion. It was something darker, lurking at the edges of his eyes, granting a dangerous allure to his eager smiles. An appetite for something that Oswald couldn't quite pinpoint and yet was somehow intrigued by – much to Adél's annoyance.

"You're being ridiculous now," she would say accusingly, as they lounged on Nygma's old couch, munching on whatever tasty snack they had found in the cupboard as they mindlessly watched the reruns of some old black and white sitcom. "The man's a creep, sure, but a harmless one. You should see the way his dæmon looks at you when she thinks we're distracted. Pathetic."

"Perhaps," Oswald would reply, pretending to be engrossed in whatever over-the top plot twist was unfolding on screen while his mind wandered.

"I was saving this talk for when you recovered completely, but..." Ed said one evening, as they sat at opposite sides of the kitchen table.

Though he was still unsure on his feet and more often than not his leg and his still-healing injury conspired against him to make even a short trip to the nearby bathroom a daunting experience, he had insisted for joining him at the table. There was something humiliating in being served his meals in bed, something Oswald was unwilling to put up with any longer now that he was starting to regain most of his mental and physical faculties. Ed had fretted over him, of course he had, but had ultimately failed to conceal how glad he was for his decision. So much so that soon enough the room was filled by his incessant rambling about the most horrid yet exciting details of his job at the GCPD. Oswald had let him, half tuning his voice out, half listening when he sensed he was about to tell him something interesting about life at the precinct. But now the giddiness had vanished, replaced with something that really looked like hesitation. Oswald offered him what he hoped would come off as an encouraging look, urging him to continue.

Ed cleared his throat. "Remember my dæmon talked about a favour? You see, Mr. Penguin, you meet me at a very strange time in my life. Recently I...I've gone through some changes. What changes, you ask?"

Oswald frowned, chopsticks hovering over his unfinished carton of noodles. "I didn't--"

"I started murdering people," he blurted out, before he could even finish his sentence.

Ed and his dæmon exchanged a glance.

"Wow," the fox-dæmon said. "It's thrilling to say out loud."

"It is," Ed agreed. The sparkle in his eyes was matched by the closest thing a canine could form to a grin on his companion's snout.

"How many?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You said you murdered people," Oswald insisted, drinking in the unease emanating from the other man. A brief rush of power, but a welcome one nonetheless. "I'm asking how many."

"Three in total," Ed ended up admitting, somehow looking simultaneously proud and embarrassed of his accomplishments.

There was precious little Oswald could to do hold back a chuckle. He returned to his noodles, picking through them with the tip of his chopsticks. Adél, who up until that moment had been quietly sitting on his lap, jumped down from the chair and joined Ed's dæmon by the legs of the table. Oswald was tangentially aware of the two dæmons whispering back and forth, but decided to ignore them in favour of concentrating on the man sitting opposite to him.

"And how did you kill them?" He asked.

"Well, to be fair one was an accident," he paused, just the time for Oswald to raise a questioning eyebrow at him, before he clarified. "She was the love of my life."

For the second time in the span of a handful of minutes, Oswald found himself struggling to conceal a teasing little grin. "I must admit, you didn't strike me as someone who believes in love. Or any other illogical, unscientific kind of emotion."

"Foolish, isn't it?" Ed said, letting out a nervous chuckle of his own. "But do not worry, Mr. Penguin. I learned a precious lesson from my mistakes."

 _Did you, really?_ Oswald wondered. He cast a quick glance at Adél, still engrossed in an animated conversation with Vera. He decided to leave them be.

Ed looked at him expectantly. He seemed to have forgotten everything about the food laying on his plate, and was now focused only, entirely on him. His piercing gaze, even from behind the lenses of his glasses, was almost unsettling. Almost. "I wanted to ask you, Mr. Penguin sir, if you would...teach me."

Oswald frowned. "Teach you?"

"How to be a better killer. How to have the whole city cowering at the mention of my name. How to be, well, more like you."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"But--"

Oswald held up his free hand, effectively shushing him before he was forced to hear any more of his objections. "You wish to be – as you said – more like me, and yet you saw all the pain and suffering that my choices have brought me to endure. It seems to me you haven't thought this through. If it's the thrill you're looking for, you'll be happy to know there are other, safer ways to get high on adrenaline that won't result in you spending the rest of your life locked up in a tiny cage in Blackgate Penitentiary. I suggest you reconsider your proposition, friend."

They consumed the rest of their meal in silence. Oswald didn't miss how Ed shifted on his chair and kept casting him furtive glances. With his cheeks tinted red because of the wine, his embarrassment, or both, he resembled a misbehaving child who had just been scolded by a too-strict teacher. Their dæmons continued to whisper to each other under the table, until they finally got up from their chairs in silent agreement to retire for the night.

"What did you tell her?" He asked Adél afterwards, when they were laying on what for all intents and purposes had become their bed.

"That if they really want to learn, they might as well start with procuring a subject," she said. Her eyes were still fixed on the fox-dæmon, pacing around her human as they settled down to sleep on the couch, just a few feet away.

Oswald and his dæmon shared a private laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

Oswald soon found out what the goons working at Mooney's meant when they said the body heals faster than the mind.

After two weeks spent trapped inside Ed's apartment, he was able to walk on his own, no need to lean against chairs and walls and nearby pieces of furniture for support. Every so often, he would catch himself staring at the neat little stitching on his shoulder in the bathroom mirror, until Adél scoffed or made some off-hand comment about his narcissistic streak, for the sole purpose of getting under his skin enough to distract him from more troubling thoughts. Still he woke up in the middle of the night, breath stuck in his throat and the flicker of golden dust behind his eyelids. Adél did what she could, bless her heart, curling up against him, whispering kind words until they both fell asleep. When everything else failed, she hummed one of the old lullabies his mother used to sing while tucking him into bed with the promise of a peaceful night, devoid of nightmares.

There was a hole in his chest, where his beating heart used to be, which the ever-so-obliging Ed Nygma did his best to fill with good food and mindless chatting. It soon devolved in a somewhat comfortable routine; Ed would leave before he woke up in the morning, leaving behind a good breakfast and a few notes with reminders in the form of ridiculous riddles written on a slip of coloured paper. As soon as he was back from work, he would change his bloodied bandages and check his stitches, always under Adél's watchful eye. Oswald's dæmon refused to let herself be distracted by Vera's constant rambling and kept watch instead, eyes following the expert movements of Nygma's hands, snapping at him or his dæmon whenever Oswald winced in pain. The un-bandaging and rebandaging ritual was usually followed by a hearty dinner Oswald forced himself to swallow and a movie from Ed's extensive collection of old thriller flicks.

One thing Oswald had to give to him – he was persistent in a way he couldn't possibly have predicted after their first, uneasy interactions. If he had hoped to see him forget everything about his absurd idea murder and mentorship, he was bound to be disappointed. Not once during the course of entire weeks did he let him forget about the one-sided agreement he had imposed upon him with his decision to drag him back from the woods and nurse him back to health, constantly reminding him about the favour he had promised to take into consideration. An insistence that Oswald found admirable, in a way, while his dæmon found all but unsufferable.

"You know," Ed said, as he busied himself with dinner, chopping fresh vegetables under Oswald's bored gaze. "I used to be wary of people who justified their terrible life choices with fate having anything to do with them, but I'm starting to reconsider. Somehow, I feel like the universe has found a way for me to meet the guide I had been looking for."

"I wish you would stop saying such things," Oswald sighed, shaking his head. He was leaning with his back against the dinner table – which, for all intents and purposes, served as breakfast and lunch table as well. "I'm the pathetic shell of the man who used to rule this city. A fallen king with nothing left to do but go on a self-imposed exile in the hopes he will one day be able to forgive himself for all the suffering he has caused. I hardly think I'd be able to teach you anything useful."

"Do you want to know what I see before me, Mr. Penguin?" Ed said, abandoning the meal he was preparing to turn around, so he could look right at him as he spoke. His eyes glimmered behind the thick glasses, with an unconditional brand admiration Oswald still struggled to comprehend. "I see a man with no burden. Unencumbered. A man who can rise from the ashes of his kingdom and achieve greatness _because_ he has no one holding him back."

Had he been in his right mind, Oswald would have recognised it as an innocent slip of his tongue, a misguided but harmless attempt at cheering him up. Alas, ever since the death of his beloved mother he had been anything but. Before he knew it, he had reached for the kitchen knife that had been carelessly left on the cutting board and pointed it at Ed's neck. Ed, who could only stare wide-eyed and mouth half-open in an aborted attempt at talking him down from the fury that had overtaken him all of a sudden.

"Don't you dare talk about her," Oswald spat. "My mother was a saint!"

Adél wobbled forwards just as Vera, who up until that moment had been pestering her with some nonsense about the capacity of human blood vessels compared to other animals’, backed down, finding shelter behind Ed's legs. She bared her white fangs, as if daring her to come any closer. A treacherous thought sneaked its way inside Oswald's mind. Right there and then he wished his dæmon had been anywhere near imposing as Fish Mooney's jaguar, or even one of those big drooling dog-dæmons that populated the GCPD. And he hated himself for it. Adél couldn't read his mind, but he knew she had caught the sentiment stretched through their bond, as Nygma swallowed around nothing flinching when the blade pressed tighter against his throat in swift punishment. A part of him relished in watching him squirm.

"Mr. Penguin, please," he tried. Back pressed up the kitchen counter, he had no escape from his wrath. His dæmon could growl and hiss all she wanted, it wouldn't have prevented Oswald from putting a premature end to the man's life with a practiced flick of his wrist.

"Silence! I'll have you know, Mr. Nygma, that I killed for much, much less in the past," and there was oh, so much truth to it. It wasn't an empty threat, and the sudden spark of fear he saw in the other man's eyes told him he knew this all too well.

"What Edward was trying to say," Vera cut in, before he had a chance at turning threat into reality. The thought of barking at her to shut up like he had done with her human just a few seconds before felt wrong still, which brought him to hesitate unwittingly granting the fox-dæmon the precious opportunity to carry on with her speech. "Is that you may not realise it yet, but you are stronger this way. Someone who has no-one left to love, nothing left to lose, is a someone who cannot be bargained. A god among men, or the closest thing there is to one."

"Oswald..." Adél cautioned, but he didn't hear her over the rumbling of his own blood rushing in his ears.

He bowed his head, let Ed take the knife from him and place it somewhere safe, away from his grasp. He didn't know why. The moment the fox-dæmon had spoken, the weight of the world had come down on him, all of his strengths had left him and he had gone back to feeling disgustingly hopeless, just as he had been in the feverish haze of the caravan, where he stood waiting for either death or the police to take him away.

It would have been easy to take Ed's life. So damn easy. The Oswald who had pushed Fish Mooney down the ledge and rejoiced when he had heard the nauseating sound of her body hitting the water below wouldn't have hesitated. The Oswald who lay in a bed that wasn't his own for hours at a time, praying and fearing at the same time to wake up one day without the face of his mother haunting his every waking hour, was left empty at the thought of another meaningless murder. Meaningless, yes, like all his efforts up until that moment had been.

"We are not what we used to be," Adél said. The tone of her voice was one of mourning, the same she had used when trying to convince him to let his dear mother's lifeless body go, that there wasn't much else he could do for her, that her dæmon was gone and it was already too late.

Oswald didn't reply. Deep down, in spite of the desperate, stubborn way his ego kept clinging to his tattered pride with its teeth and nails, he knew it to be true.

Ed spread his arms in a theatrical gesture. "Ta-daa!"

"What is this?" Oswald asked with a grimace.

"A subject," Ed explained, as if merely stating the obvious. The anticipation was palpable, even more so since his dæmon seemed unable to sit still and kept alternating between circling the chair where the 'subject' sat, bound and gagged, and glaring back and forth between him and her human. "And an apology. I didn't realise how deeply your mother's demise had affected you and I didn't mean to belittle your suffering. I hope you'll accept this as a peace offering of sorts."

"Two birds with one stone," Vera added.

"Very clever," Adél commented under her breath so as only Oswald could hear. He could _feel_ her rolling her eyes. They had tried to institute a ban on bird-related riddles and wordplay, but neither Ed not his dæmon had been any good at respecting it.

"His name is Mr. Leonard," Ed went on, placing his hands on the poor man's shoulders, who let out a pitiful whimper in response. "He's – well, was one of Galavan's lackeys. Surprisingly easy to trick into helping me fix my broken car. Which wasn't really broken, of course. You'd think someone who's involved with the mayor's shady business would be more careful with this sort of things, but..."

Oswald tuned out the man's rambling in favour of taking a closer look at Mr. Leonard. Only then was he able to pinpoint what it was that disturbed him about the display, and it wasn't the helpless shifting of the man on his chair, nor the burlap bag fastened around his head with a good amount of duct tape, nor the incessant pleading and whining and mumbling of incomprehensible words muffled by his gag.

"Where's his dæmon?"

Ed's gaze darted down towards his hostage. "Oh. I'm sure she must be--"

As if on cue, something moved inside of the bound man's breast pocket. Then, a sudden flash of colour appeared on his grey suit, ran down the leg of his slacks and fell onto the ground.

"Oh dear," Ed muttered.

Fortunately, his dæmon was quicker to react. She leaped into action and soon a high-pitched shriek was heard. Oswald could only hope the walls of Ed’s apartment were soundproofed. Mr. Leonard's dæmon was a bright green lizard who, crushed under one of Vera's front paws, appeared to be just as terrified as her human was.

"Perhaps it's not that bad of an idea," Adél ventured. "It could help us feel a little more like ourselves again."

Oswald harboured more than a few doubts about that, but decided to indulge her – her, and and the man who was still staring at him, looking like he was going to explode if he didn't receive any indication that his unorthodox gift was appreciated.

"Very well," he said. "Shall we begin?"

Ed's lips split into an almost manic grin.

Once more, his dæmon proved to know him better than he knew himself – it _did_ help. The feel of the cold metal as he wrapped his fingers around the knife's handle sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine. After what had felt like an eternity of helplessness stuck in a house, in a life that wasn't his, this was something he was familiar with. He hadn't realised how much he craved to feel powerful and in control again, like he had been before Galavan, before the abduction of his mother, before the damn mayoral campaign. The torturing of Mr. Leonard was the sacred act that broke the seal of guilt he had unconsciously put on his most violent urges, which surged back to the surface with the first taste of blood on his lips. A modicum of revenge, and gruesome appetizer before the main curse of Galavan's head served on a silver plate.

Oswald felt two pairs of eyes on him as he demonstrated the technique before handing the knife to Ed and instructing him to recreate what he had just shown him. He wasn't surprised to discover that he was a quick study, and exceedingly good at following orders to boot. Ed had told him about his job at the precinct, much more than he had been interested in hearing at the time, but Oswald had always dismissed his autopsy table stories as irrelevant. Dead bodies didn't twitch and scream when the sharp blade of the scalpel started to slice the skin. They didn't plead and cry when they realised there was nowhere for them to run other than into the arms of a cruel, untimely death. Still, Ed's nerves held in front of the real thing. He was cold and methodical, adjusting his movements when Oswald pointed out a mistake or made a suggestion, then turned to look at him as if awaiting for praise, which he found himself almost itching to grant him, if only to catch a glimpse of that elated smile of his.

The poor lizard-dæmon scurried on the wooden floor as they carved her human apart, crying an endless string of "please!" and "don't hurt him!" and "let us go!". Vera took her time with her. She hunted her around the apartment, ambushing her like a cat playing with a mouse before pouncing on to devour it whole. She picked her up by her tail, letting her dangle upside down from her mouth for a while as the poor thing bit and scratched uselessly at her snout, only to drop her again and resume the chase.

When Oswald covered Ed's hand with his own, feeling the skin burn hot under his touch, and showed him how to slit a man's throat in a single movement, the dæmon vanished in a small cloud of golden dust. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ed's fox-dæmon staring in awe at the shimmering particles clinging to her fur. Though she had remained on the side-lines for most of it, Adél was equally enthralled by the sight. She and Oswald both knew from very, very personal experience just how hauntingly beautiful a dæmon's demise could be, and this wasn't an exception.

When all was said and done and Ed's apartment reeked of fresh blood and triumph, Oswald realised he had acquired a new kind of respect for the man.

He placed a bloodied hand on Ed's shoulder, uncaring if it stained the soft fabric of his sweater. The rest of his clothes were in a similar state anyway, splotches of red only just starting to dry on the sleeves of his shirt and the knees of his trousers. A stray droplet had landed on his cheekbone right under the frames of his glasses. "I have to admit I was mistaken about you, Ed. Maybe you are a gifted killer, after all."

He reached out to wipe away the tiny bloodstain on his cheek with the pad of his thumb. As absurd as it was, the expression on Ed's face told him that that might very well have been the kindest thing anyone had ever told him. 

The following day, they woke up to Ed playing the piano and singing his own rendition of 'My Mother's Love'.

"I heard your dæmon singing it for you under the covers," was the simple explanation, delivered with that same timid yet eager smile he had offered him the night before, right after cutting off Mr. Leonard's ear just as Oswald had instructed him to.

_Manipulation_ Adél called it, but it didn't stop her from participating in the following quartet, at the end of which Vera performed in the canine equivalent of a deep bow. Adél pointedly ignored her in favour of joining Oswald by the kitchen table, already laden with charcuterie, at least three different types of jam, and freshly baked pancakes to celebrate.

The lesson on how to dispose of a body was less exciting than the one that had preceded it, but proved to be interesting enough as Ed jumped at the chance to demonstrate his forensics skills. To his credit, his methods were effective, clean and proper, to the point that Oswald would have been very surprised indeed if the police even managed to locate a single piece of the dead man's remains.

Soon, in Oswald's life there was a time before Mr. Leonard and time after Mr. Leonard. The pit of despair he had plunged into after the incident with Galavan and his mother was but a bittersweet memory; he had clawed himself out of it with every drop of blood he and Ed had drawn from the lackey's shaking body and now he was reborn, with a brighter future shining ahead of him and – most importantly – a purpose.

When the day came, Oswald prepared carefully for his grand return to the outside world. He donned every piece of clothing with his customary care, Adél helping him choose the accessories, making sure nothing was amiss. Looking at himself in the mirror of Ed's bathroom for one last time, the fading scar covered by several layers of fine fabrics, he realised he felt a strange sense of melancholy at the prospect of leaving Ed alone. Well, perhaps not alone. If his dæmon was anywhere near as talkative when they were on their own as she was when they had guests, it would have been more than enough to prevent him from feeling the void left by their departing friend.

And yet.

"Dangerous thoughts," Adél warned. If she had been a human, she would have cast him a disapproving glance no doubt.

"You always say that when Ed is concerned," To that she huffed, urging him to step out of the bathroom for the final goodbyes.

Whether she liked it or not, Ed and Oswald had built a strange sort of familiarity. Though Adél didn't share the same fondness for the man's dæmon, Oswald took notice of how she was starting to get used to her presence, allowing her to get closer with each new conversation they shared, instead of chastising her at every turn.

Ed and Vera were already waiting for them by the door. The fox-dæmon was the first to approach, gently pushing her nose against Adél's beak.

"I must thank you, my friend," Oswald told him, resting both hands on his shoulders. The height difference made it somewhat awkward, but he didn't mind. His feelings of gratitude were genuine, and he would have been damned if he hadn't found a way to express them. "You saved my life and reminded me of who I was. Of who I will go back to being once I step out of that door."

"Oh no, Mr Penguin, I--"

"Oswald. Please."

"Oswald," Ed conceded. He licked his lips, ill-concealed nervousness seeping through every pore. "You have taught me an invaluable lesson. More than one, actually. I should be thanking you instead."

"And you still have many more to learn. How to choose clothes that actually fit you, for one," he chuckled. Ed imitated him, some of his embarrassment evaporating to be replaced with a spark of confidence he had started witnessing more and more often during the last few weeks.

Oswald's hand left his hand to drift lower, tugging at the knot of Ed's tie to straighten it – and lingered, far longer than he had intended. As his fingers threaded on the smooth material, Oswald thought of the way he had looked, all bloodstains and unrestrained excitement under the green neon lights, and of the dust shimmering on his dæmon's body. He wondered if he would still be able to taste the blood of their shared kill on his lips, and the prospect alone was more alluring than it had any right to be. _Dangerous thoughts_ , he heard Adél reiterate, but he struggled to tell if she had really spoken up or if it was just an echo bouncing off the walls of his own head.

"Do it," Vera murmured from somewhere next to his feet. Oswald's eyes flickered down to see her close to his leg, dangerously so, to the point that her tail was brushing against the black fabric of his slacks. He would never know whether she was talking to him or to Ed or to the both of them at the same time. "He wants you to."

"Vera!" Ed gasped, startled by the shameful honesty of his own soul. Just like that, the spell was broken.

Oswald took a step back, fixed his own necktie, suddenly suffocating around his throat, as if the gesture could help him regain control over his own body. Protective as always, Adél rushed to his help.

"We need to go," she said.

"She's right," Oswald agreed. "As much as I would love to stay a bit longer, we really need to go."

Ed nodded, a bit too forcefully. "Yes. Sure. Of course. I wouldn't dream of keeping you here when you have an empire to build."

Oswald gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, accompanied by what was probably the first genuine smile, with no trace of irony or bitter sarcasm, he had offered him since his rescue in the woods. "Take care, my friend."

He wasn't able to shake off the feeling of the fox-dæmon's piercing black eyes fixed on his back until after he descended the narrow stairs of the building and finally stepped out into the streets.

**Author's Note:**

> \- A daemon is the physical manifestation of a person's soul in the form of an animal. During childhood, a daemon can change its shape on a whim. When someone reaches adulthood, though, their daemon “settles” into a single form that best represents their personality and character. Daemons are usually of the opposite sex of their human, but exceptions aren't unheard of.
> 
> \- A person and their daemon are united by an invisible, intangible "bond" that prevents them from getting too far from each other. Being further than a few feet from your daemon causes physical pain, which only grows stronger as the distance increases.
> 
> \- In many cultures, touching another person's daemon is a huge taboo. Touching someone else's daemon is considered to be an extremely intimate act, to the point that sometimes not even married couple are comfortable with touching each other's daemons. Having your daemon touched or, even worse, grabbed by someone without your consent is a horrible, sometimes even traumatic experience.


End file.
